Dreams: A series of short films

This morning there were several hittings of the snooze button, which is not completely unheard of. But what was amusing was a series of dreams I had during every 6 minute interval, which played like skits, complete with punchlines at the end before waking. Here are the three I remember most clearly, in order they occured:

1) dommeyourass and I were getting ready to leave the house and get in her car to take a trip. I was sleepy and out of it and she was cranky with a capital C that rhymes with T that stands for trouble. She was complaining and ranting about all sorts of things, mostly things in her life annoying her. I was listening fairly patiently, knowing she wasn't upset at me but anxious for her to be in a better mood. We got to the car, she was still ranting. We started driving, and finally she reached the pinnacle of her rant, declaring her car absolutely filthy and she hates starting off Monday morning with it looking like hell and she resolved to never eat in her car ever again (apparently there were lots of food wrappers in the backseat). At this point she finally takes a breath. We're silent for a few seconds. Then I turn to her as I light cigarettes for us both.
"Are you finished now?"
She pauses. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I am." Takes a drag of the smoke. "Thanks." Then she grinned at me and we both started laughing.

2) dommeyourass and cocolola were roommates. Or more accurately, they used to be roommates in my dream, and dommeyourass was telling me stories about their apartment. But the cool thing is, as she was describing the scene, we were IN it. So we're walking up to this 2 bedroom apartment and she's telling all these anecdotes about stuff that happened while they live there. We go into one of the bedrooms and I'm sitting on the bed while she's talking. We'd been hanging out there for awhile when she got up and started opening the curtains. She's talking about the view of the street and the sunlight when suddenly she's like, "damn! cocolola has a GOOD view! I never knew it looked this good out her window!"
"Wait, this isn't your bedroom?"
"No, it's cocolola's."
"Oh." Pause. "That explains the pink bedspread."

3) I was downtown in the loop meeting two friends for coffee at this Corner-Briazz-Cosi-Pain type place. We were trying to find a place to sit down, and all these tables were empty but when we tried to sit down, these catering waiters came up and told us we weren't allowed there. I asked why, and he said it was reserved for a private party, in this very snooty tone that implied there's no way in hell I could have been a part of that party. I was like, "okay, sure no problem!", then walked over to the catered food and started making this amazing sandwich for myself, using foccacia and fresh mozzerella and basil and tomatoes and I piled it high then just walked out of the cafe before anyone could stop me. I was walking down the streets of downtown on my way to get my jacket at the office, taking big delicious bites out of this sandwich. Though I had just started to sink my teeth into the middle with the most cheese when the damn alarm went off again.

I'm the one that put the range in the rover.

My feelings on this weekend can best be expressed in the form of a monologue from the made-for-tv movie "Portrait of a Stripper", starring Lesley Ann Warren.

On Friday night I made out with three different people in the DJ booth and I think every instance ended in me quickly pulling away and saying "I need to cue the next song!!" I got burned two months ago from an incident of heavy making out that ended in my accidentally playing Sean Paul's Gimme the Light in the middle of another track, so now I'm paranoid. I'm also amused at how the lighting guy who's also in the booth seems extremely confused with sexual proclivities since we engage in fag-speak. He's not the first. Oh, and vfc came which thrilled me so I made sure to play her song: Xtina's Drrrty.

I can't really remember much of Saturday. Oh yeah. This strange house party to raise money for Howard Dean. (I gave spinach artichoke dip instead of cash, because I'm generally against donating money to politicians, even when I like them -- I'll only give time.) I snuck out early and went home to nap. then woke up, applied eyeliner, tight jeans, black boots and t-shirt, leather cuffs, then went to go see A Mighty Wind. Which was funny. The movie and my outift for the movie. But afterwards I let herownsociety pick me up for a leather play party which ended up being sort of a bust as a play event, but successful as an evening of chatting with a small group of cool people dressed very hotly.

Yesterday was beautiful and sunny so we walked instead of drove to the corner store and later I helped Damon save big money at Menard's. I think I ate dinner and watched half of a movie and washed some dishes. I know I went to the grocery store late at night and felt bad for the cashiers, even after one of them took a dig on me for asking her to correct the non-discounted items that I purchased soley because they were discounted. I know it only added up to five dollars, but I'm running on empty right now so five dollars actually means something.

Speaking of money....never mind, I don't want to talk about it at all. One panic attack on the train is enough for one Monday.

Yesterday in the car, Damon said "oh, I read this interview with Nelly and he explained what pimp juice is." What? It's a drink? Featuring malibu rum? That's not what my pimp juice is. This just reaffirms my belief that Nelly is wicked lame.

It's time to eat condensed clam chowder soup filled with broken saltines. Not as good as that sandwich in my dream this morning, but tasty nonetheless.

Also, wha' happened?!?

Pimping ain't nothing but ex's and dollars.

I was on a roll like butter at work after lunch, but then my productivity slowed down when wearemany called to talk about light cream cheese and all of my ex's being in the same city this summer and what she would say to one of them at a party. I'm talking about limenal in a passive aggressive way, by the way -- they can hang out as much as they want and I don't feel weird about it at all. But that wildcard one, who I have no clever nickname for since she's not really a Deadly Ex^TM or even a formerly Deadly Ex, she's such this foreign entity to me now. She's that person you date and when you look back you have hard time recognizing yourself which sort of makes you realize how much the two of you didn't really know each other. Which is not to say I didn't have some positive experiences or that I didn't learn a lot, because both are certainly true. But when it comes to stories, there are far more cringe-worthy ones versus warm fuzzy memories. Maybe it's just because the good times were quiet and the bad times were angry and teary.

Though the sex was pretty damn good. When we were having it. I tried to sort of forget that aspect for awhile, when I was in the "I hate my ex so I'm rewriting the history" phase. Why do I do that? I should have more respect for myself and my choice in lovers and people I date, because bad-mouthing them ultimately reflects badly on myself. I mean, we all make mistakes, sure, but it's not like I was drunk for a year and a half and thereby not in control of my choices. She's not a bad person...well, not a horrible person. We were just horribly horribly mismatched and completely oblivious to the fact as well, evidently.

Yeah, it was probably just the sex. I ain't mad at myself though.
And after my panicking on the train this morning about lack of benjamins, I did some preliminary research on selling my Akai somewhere soon, seeing as I've had it for over a year and have done absolutely nothing noteworthy with it. Then one of my credit cards called me at work, probably just doing the whole "hi, Mr. ____, we're wondering if you had a chance to send a payment? thanks." and shockingly enough they're so nice and not mean that I feel even more guilty about my delay. They always call and wait another month before I'm actually considered "late" which is pretty unheard of among the bastards known as credit card companies.

How much do I hate money? It's not even my debt, because I know if I woke up tomorrow and had everything in my life paid for, including surgical procedures that haven't been performed on me yet, I would still do things like plot to float paper so my rent check won't clear before I get a chance to pull out cash for the weekend. I feel like I never have money, yet I make more than $10,000 more a year than I did working a crappy retail job after graduating from some supposedly illustrious university but I don't feel I'm in a better economic bracket.

I went through this phase when I became slightly more fiscally solvent, that I think about in terms of "buying light bulbs". In these moments of trying to be a responsible adult who takes care of myself and my household, I would find myself buying things that I didn't need, but would or could need in the near or far future. Like buying lightbulbs in large quantities when I don't need any. Or having non-vehicle owner's car insurance. Or that album by a group I've been meaning to get into but won't be in the mood to her for three years. Or an outrageously expensive piece of producing equipment just like Dr. Dre has. Sort of a strange stupidly ambitious way to live above your means.

Yesterday at PetSmart I was buying canned food and rawhide strips which felt like overindulging treats for Sophie, even though I know chewing the rawhide is good for her teeth and also helps her chill and relax (which is a plus when I'm trying to fall asleep). At the checkout, the clerk asked if I wanted to donate 1, 5, 10, or 25 dollars to help homeless pets. I said, sorry, not today. Then I turned to Damon and said, I can't contribute because I might soon have my own homeless pet.

It's not that bad and I shouldn't be such a drama queen when I know I'm doing way better than a lot of folks and I have a lot opportunity and access to resources that others don't. Comparatively speaking, I could be doing a lot worse. I know that. I'm not ungrateful. But sometimes I can't think about just what's relative, I can only think about the sinking feeling in my stomach and hope that once again I'll bounce back without being too worse for the wear.